


An Act of Charity

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Sarah Jane Adventures
Genre: Community: who_like_giants, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it's like to work for A Charitable Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's widely acknowledged that the 'Dorothy' mentioned in _SJA: Death of the Doctor_ is intended to be Ace. There's another school of thought that would prefer it to be Dodo. Here, it's both.

I hadn't expected to end up behind the counter in a charity shop. When I'd been at school, the expectation had been that we'd all walk into jobs with high-flying outfits in the City, or multinational corporations. But as it turned out, my exam results weren't brilliant, the banks and multinationals weren't interested, and I ended up at home with nothing to do, while most of my friends went off to university. Those of us left behind got into trouble in one way and another, and after one drunken escapade too many I found myself being sentenced to community service, working for A Charitable Earth.

When I showed up at the shop on my first day, I'd expected to be the only one there under 55. Certainly the manager, who'd been there to meet me and show me how the till worked, looked old enough. But even so, there wasn't anything blue-rinsed about her. She looked, and acted, like a hippy who'd smoked something really out of the way in the Sixties and never really come down to Earth since. I'm pretty sure she made all her own clothes, too. And just in case anyone was still inclined to trust her sanity, she insisted we all call her 'Dotty'. 

As for the rest of the staff, I wasn't the only youngster. It seemed that the charity had quite a working relationship with the local magistrates, and they had several people repaying a debt to society, like me. To begin with, I'd always be working with one of the older volunteers, but after they were sure I knew how things worked and wasn't going to stick my hand in the till, I could end up paired with anyone. I worked quite a few shifts with a tough-looking girl called Deez, who told me she'd been in and out of trouble 'for years' until the charity had sorted her out. Her real name was Jessica, but nobody ever used that. Even her namebadge said 'Deez'. 

"Do you have to have a nickname to work here?" I'd asked her. 

She'd shaken her head. "No. When I started I was Jessica. Not even Jess. Dotty insisted on all the syllables." 

"She's a fine one to talk." 

"I don't think she's as daft as she looks," Deez had assured me. "She can't be, not and run a shop like this." 

"So when did everyone start calling you Deez?" 

"Long story," Deez said, and that was all she'd tell me. 

Then, one morning when I showed up for my normal shift, I found a small knot of people already in the shop. Most of the younger staff were there, along with a couple of the blue-rinse brigade. Dotty was perched on the counter, wearing one of her less successful dresses. This one looked like a rug; maybe it had been, before she got her hands on it. 

"There you are!" she said, making it sound as if my arrival was the cue for some kind of celebration. "Mrs Rycroft and Mrs Hill" – there was no question of those two battleaxes having nicknames – "will be looking after the shop this morning. Everybody else, we've got a house clearance to deal with. Now, Josh, I believe you can drive?" 

"That's why I'm here," Josh said. 

"Oh, yes, of course. Well, if you promise not to crash into the Chief Constable's car again, you can drive the van. It's parked out at the back. Now, where did I put that address?" She started searching her handbag, making quick darts at it as though she was afraid there was something in it that might bite back. "Yes, here we are. Prospect House, Gladstone Drive. Do you think you can find your way there?" 

"'Course I can." Josh certainly didn't lack self-confidence. In his account of his accident, which we'd all heard at one point or another, he had been blameless, the Chief Constable had been entirely in the wrong, and any magistrate not in the pay of the police would have seen this at once and let him off. I don't think any of us actually believed his story, but we couldn't help admiring him for sticking to it. 

"That'll be fab. You'll have room for a couple of passengers in the van, and I'll take the rest in my car. Now, who wants to ride with Josh?" 

In the end, I ended up in the van as one of Josh's passengers. I spent most of the drive regretting it – being driven by Josh, in a clapped-out old van, was the scariest experience in my life to date. I said that to Deez later on; she replied that being a passenger in Dotty's car had been the scariest experience of _her_ life, and next time we both ought to take the bus. 

Prospect House, when we got there, was big, old and ugly, three floors high. It was set back from the road, behind a dark hedge. It wasn't actually boarded up, but getting on that way: by the look of it, nobody had lived there for some time. The front garden was overrun with brambles, though someone had hacked enough of them down to make space for us to park. We hung around in the driveway while Dotty hunted for the key and opened the front door. Then, she took us round the premises, in one breath telling the story of the elderly couple who had lived there, and in the next saying what we should do with this piece of furniture or that knick-knack. She used 'him' and 'her' to refer to the furniture, as well as the former occupants, just in case she wasn't being confusing enough already. 

Most of the stuff was on the bottom floor – it seemed that the stairs had been too much for the old couple in their last years – so most of the heavy lifting we had to do was on the level. But there were one or two 'pieces', as Dotty called them, upstairs, and now and then Dotty would send a couple of us upstairs to fetch one. Downstairs everything had been reasonably clean and modern, but the rooms upstairs looked as if they hadn't been touched in years. The wallpaper was peeling, and the furniture we were recovering was all under dustsheets. Most of the rooms looked as if they'd last been decorated about eighty years ago. 

It was while Josh and I were trying to shift a heavy chest of drawers out of one of the upstairs bedrooms that he suddenly said "Hang on," and let go of his end. 

"What?" I asked him. 

"I heard something fall down. Half a mo." He reached into the gap we'd opened behind the chest, and pulled out a small box, the sort of thing you might keep a ring or a brooch in. It looked old and worn, its surface polished shiny in places. He opened it, holding it so I couldn't see what was in there, and snapped it shut again. 

"Let's have a look," I said. 

Josh shook his head. "Finders keepers." 

"But surely it belongs to–" 

"Me," Josh said firmly. "I found it. No-one else knew it was here, did they? Dotty didn't, or she'd have said, 'Oh, I do so want you to make sure you don't miss the darling shiny things in this room.'" 

Despite myself, I couldn't help laughing at his impersonation of her. 

"But you ought to tell her." 

"I'm not telling her anything." He pointed his finger at me. "And neither are you. Look, no-one knew this was here, so no-one'll miss it. If you say anything you'll just make trouble. You don't want to do that, do you?" 

I shook my head. "No." 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." I know I shouldn't have, but Josh could be very convincing. 

"OK. Let's get this thing downstairs before Dotty comes looking for us." 

We kept on moving furniture until Dotty called a break for lunch. The van was more than half full, but there was still plenty to do. She'd said lunch would be provided, and sure enough she dished out packets of odd-looking fruit and lumpy home-made yogurt from the boot of her car. There were a few grumbles, to say the least. 

"No chocolate?" Deez asked plaintively. 

"Yeah, we know, you're a chocolate addict," Josh said. "You need to cut down on it before you start getting stuck in doors." 

If anyone else had called Deez fat there'd have been violence done. But somehow Josh could get away with saying anything to anyone. 

"Fruit won't kill you," he went on. He took a bite of a greengage, winced, and spat it into the brambles. "On second thoughts, I'd kill for a Coke right now." 

"Why not get one?" Deez said. "There's a Co-op nearly next door." She pointed down the road. 

"Didn't bring any money. But I suppose if it's in a good cause–" 

"I'll go," I said hastily. I had a nasty feeling that Josh was about to explain why you were allowed to shoplift if you were working for a charity, and he'd probably talk me into agreeing with him. "That's a Coke and some chocolate. Anything else?" 

Once I'd found out what everyone wanted, I went down the road to the supermarket and set about getting it. It seemed simple enough until I came to pay – the bottle of Coke I'd got turned out to have a leak, and the girl on the checkout as good as blamed me for it. I had to stand there while she mopped up the mess and then sent for someone to go and get a replacement bottle. By the time that was sorted out, the people behind me must have been waiting for ten minutes. Then the cash register came up with the wrong total – which can't have been easy when it's all done with barcodes – and once we'd finally agreed on the right amount, I got out my money and found that I was five pence short. 

"I haven't got enough–" I began. 

"'S all gone through now," the girl replied sulkily. "I'll have to get the manager. He's prob'ly on his lunch now," she added. "Might have to wait a bit." 

"Oh, Gordon Bennett," the woman waiting behind me said. "Here, take this." She'd got out her own purse while we'd been arguing to and fro. "Five pence. Happy?" 

The cashier took the money silently and with bad grace, and completed the transaction. For a moment it looked as if the till roll was going to jam and I'd be stuck there forever, but after a bit of groaning it went through and I was free to go. I hung around until the woman behind me had made her own purchases. 

"I just wanted to say thanks," I said to her, once she'd finished. "And sorry for all the trouble." 

"Not a problem," she said. "Call it my business." 

"Business?" I repeated. She certainly looked like a businesswoman; fortyish, dressed for the office, with a smart handbag. Not the type I'd expect to sympathise with the likes of me – after a few hours shifting furniture, I didn't look anything special. 

"That's right," she said. "See you." 

She walked away briskly. I watched her go, and then made my way back to Prospect House. Deez and Josh were waiting outside. 

"We'd almost given you up," Deez said. 

"I had a bit of trouble at the shop," I said, and gave them edited highlights of how I'd got on. "Here you go." 

"Thanks." Deez nearly snatched the chocolate from me and gulped it down. "I needed that. Can't go shifting furniture on grapefruit and... what was it?" 

"Papayas," Josh said. 

"I suppose not." I handed him his Coke. "Dotty must have been flapping about all over the place wondering where I was." 

Josh shook his head. "I don't think she even noticed you were gone." 

We headed inside, and got back to work. 

*

"So what was that thing you found?" I asked Josh. We were taking a breather on the top landing; Dotty had decided that we needed to investigate the attic, and had gone in search of ladders, taking everyone else with her. 

He pulled out the box, but didn't open it. He looked torn between wanting to show off his find, and wanting to make sure no-one else – in particular, Dotty – found out about it. 

"Promise you'll keep this to yourself?" he said. 

"I promised already," I protested. "OK, I won't tell." 

Slowly, Josh opened the box. Inside, set in a pad of faded pink velvet, was a silver ring, with a design etched around its outer and inner surfaces that looked something like interlinked spiders. 

"What d'you think?" he said. "Bet it's worth more than the rest of this stuff put together." 

"I still think you should tell Dotty," I said. 

"Not a chance." He pulled the ring out of its box, and slipped his little finger through it. "I'm not wastiiiii–" 

I caught my breath. I'd been looking at his hand; for a moment, the ring had flared with brilliant light. As I blinked, the afterimages looked like white spiders crawling over his hand. Then I looked up at his face – it was pale, nearly white, and frozen in a horrified expression. 

"Josh?" I shook him by the shoulder. "Josh!" 

He shook me off, hard enough to send me into the nearest wall, jumped to his feet, and set off at a run. I gave chase down flight after flight of stairs, our footsteps echoing in the empty house. The others were sitting around at the bottom of the staircase – it looked as if they'd left Dotty to search for the ladder on her own. They looked up at the sound of our feet. 

"Josh?" Deez began. She jumped to her feet. "What's the–" 

He punched her in the face, and she went down like a bowling pin. Then he was through the door, and away. I ran after him, but he turned, and held up his hand, the one he'd put the ring on. Pale lightning flickered around it, and ran down his arm as far as the elbow. I ducked back inside, and slammed the door; a moment later something thumped against it from outside, smashing it against the wall with me pinned behind it. 


	2. Chapter 2

I'm a bit hazy on the next couple of minutes, but the next thing I remember clearly is that I was sitting on the floor in one of the empty downstairs rooms. I suppose a couple of the others must have helped me in there, because Dotty was just shooing them out. 

"Now you get back and look after poor Deez," she was saying. "Make sure someone stays with her all the time. Oh, dear, what a to-do." 

"What–" I muttered. "Is Deez all right?" 

Dotty hurried over to where I was, and looked down at me. 

"She's as well as can be expected, in the circumstances," she said. "No bones broken, as far as we can tell. Now," her voice was clear and her expression sharp, with no hint of her usual scatterbrained manner, "perhaps you'll explain why young Josh decided to try and knock her into next week?" 

"I don't know what's happened to him," I said. "It was that ring." 

"What ring?" 

I explained, as best I could, how Josh had found the ring, and what it had done to him when he put it on. 

"I see," Dotty said, once I'd finished. "Can you walk?" 

I stood up, and took a few experimental steps. "Yes." 

"Then come with me. I've got someone outside who'd like to hear that story." 

She led me out of the house. As we passed through the hall I caught a brief glimpse of Deez still lying there, surrounded by the others, but Dotty hurried me along and I was outside almost at once. Her car was still there, and the van. Standing beside the van, looking as if she owned it, was the woman who'd been behind me at the shop – the one who'd given me the five pence. 

"You were right, boss," Dotty said to her. "There was something here. A ring." 

"'Course I'm right," the woman said. She turned to me. "So you're one of mine, are you? Nice to see you again. Just so you know, I'm the Director of this stupid excuse for a charity. Told you it was my job to give money to hopeless nerks like you, didn't I? You can call me Boss. Now, what's all this about a ring?" 

I told my story again. 

"Sounds about typical," she said. "You know what this bloke Josh looks like, right? Good. Then you're going to come with me and get this thing sorted out." She turned back to Dotty. "You. Get the job finished off here, OK?" 

"OK," Dotty said, and disappeared back into the house, leaving me on the drive with – it seemed – the head of the whole organisation. She looked me up and down, then pulled out a smartphone and pressed a few buttons. 

"He went this way," she said, and set off at a brisk walk. I hurried to keep up. 

"Can I ask..." I began hesitantly. 

"You can _ask_." She checked her smartphone again. "There he goes." 

"What's happened to Josh? I mean, from the way you're talking, you've run into this sort of thing before." 

"Yeah, it happens quite a bit. You wouldn't believe the weird stuff people have in their houses. That's how I got into this charity malarkey in the first place. Set the thing up as a front for a day, end up running it for eight years." 

"A front?" I repeated. "But..." 

"Oh, a lot of it's real by now. More or less." We'd passed the main entrance of the supermarket by now, and were heading down an alleyway that ran beside it. "Sometimes it even does something useful." She scowled at me. "Not today. Your friend Josh is in big trouble." 

"What kind of trouble?" 

"Depends. If he's lucky he'll get a piece of my mind. Otherwise we'll be picking up pieces of his body." 

We'd already reached the far end of the alley. A gateway gave access to the loading bay behind the supermarket; she pushed at it. 

"Unlocked," she said, sounding almost disappointed. "OK. He's somewhere in there. Here's the plan. You go in that door" – she pointed – "and get his attention. I'll come at him from the other way." She set off in the direction of another entrance, then seemed to think better of it. "Just in case, you'd better have this." 

She dug in her jacket pocket and handed me another smartphone, that looked identical to the one she was still holding. 

"I've got a phone," I said. 

"Not like this, you haven't. If he gets me, you'll have to take him down. Point this end at him, and press the butterfly icon." 

"Will he–" I began, but she just shoved me toward the door, with a cheery "Get a move on." 

My heart was in my boots as I crept through the back door of the shop. The room beyond was a huge space, lit by harsh fluorescent lighting and lined with stacks of boxes, neatly organised and labelled. 

"Josh?" I called, trying to shout and keep quiet at the same time. 

I heard a door open and close, somewhere I couldn't see. 

"Josh!" I called again. "It's me." 

"And what do you think you're doing here?" a voice demanded from behind me. 

I jumped, and spun round. It was the cashier – the same one I'd had all the trouble with before. She must just have come through from the shop. 

"It's an emergency," I said. "There's a dangerous..." I realised how unconvincing I was sounding, but ploughed on. "...criminal at large." 

"Pull the other one. Get out of here before I call Security." 

"But I–" 

"Go on!" She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. 

I didn't seem to have much choice in the matter, so I took a few steps in that direction. Behind me, I could still hear her. 

"You'd think people would learn to read," she said. "You'd have to be blind to miss the KEEP OUT sign on that door. And don't try telling me you actually are blind– Hey! You! Come out of there at once!" 

I turned again, to see Josh standing in another doorway, on the far side of the room. He looked just as he had before – pale, grim, and very dangerous. Anyone with any sense would have run away from him as fast as they could. So of course the cashier walked straight towards him, still ranting. 

"How many of you are there in here?" she asked. "You'd better have a good explanation, because–" 

Lighting began to crackle over Josh's hand again. Staring coldly, he began to raise it, pointing at the cashier. 

"Josh!" I shouted. "No!" 

He jumped – obviously, he hadn't noticed that I was there. He turned to face me; I threw myself to one side, cannoning into a stack of boxes and losing my balance. A silvery, glowing bolt streaked through the space where I had been, smashing into another stack. Both stacks collapsed at once, half- burying me in shredded cardboard, fresh fruit and vegetables. 

Josh, with the lightning still dancing around his fingers, turned back to face the cashier, who seemed to have only just realised the trouble she was in. 

"No," she said, holding up her hands as if to try and push Josh away. "Please. No!" 

The smartphone was still in my hand, I realised. Not giving myself time to think, I pointed it at Josh, and pressed the butterfly icon. 

There was a hum. Josh, without moving a muscle, swung round to face me, as if he'd been on a giant turntable. Then he screamed in agony, and just went on screaming. The smartphone was vibrating in my hand, and seemed to be getting warmer. There was a horrible tearing sound, and the lights playing over Josh's hand and arm went out. He collapsed to the ground, his screams fading to moans of pain. The ring fell from his hand and rolled a little way across the floor. 

Before I could extricate myself from the wreckage of the store's fruit and veg supplies, the Director appeared in the doorway where Josh had been standing, her own smartphone at the ready. She took in the situation, shoved her phone into her pocket, and hurried over to him. 

"Get an ambulance!" she snapped at the cashier. "Go on!" 

The stunned woman nodded, and hurried off. I managed to free myself, and crossed the floor to where Josh was lying. Now I was close, I could see that his clothes were in tatters, and his body, particularly the hand that had held the ring, was covered with fine red lines. 

"Is he– Will he–" I asked. 

"Dunno," she said. "I'm not a doctor." She looked up at me from her position crouching on the floor. "So why did you shoot him? I told you to distract him and wait for me." 

"He was going to kill that... that checkout woman," I said. "I didn't see you anywhere." 

"If it'd been me, I'd probably have let him zap her. Dozy cow." She stood, and patted me on the shoulder. "Nah, just joking. You did the right thing." 

"Maybe all I've done is killed him instead of her," I said. 

"He wouldn't be any great loss either. Nicking valuables on the job." She looked down at him. "You. You're sacked." She looked back at me. "Keep an eye on him, Fruitbox." 

"Fruitbox?" I repeated stupidly. 

She pulled a fragment of orange peel out of my hair. "From now on, you're Fruitbox. Now do what I told you. Oh, and I'll have my phone back, thanks." 

"OK, boss," I said weakly, handing the smartphone over. 

She glanced around, located the ring, and knelt down by it. I couldn't see what she did with it, but when she got up, it wasn't there any more. Then she pulled out her smartphone again, and looked at it. 

"Stay there," she said. "I've got to make a few calls. Can't get a decent signal in here." She nodded at Josh, whose moans were getting quieter. "Don't try to move him." 

Until the ambulance showed up, I stayed with Josh, holding his good hand. I tried to talk to him, but he didn't give any sign of understanding me, and he didn't say anything coherent himself. 

Once the ambulance had arrived, and Josh had been carted off to hospital, my boss and I walked back to the house. 

"What was that ring?" I asked her. "What did it do to him?" 

"I don't know all the details," she said. "It's some sort of living metal. Takes you over and turns you into a weapon." 

"A weapon? Who for?" 

"We don't know. Probably aliens, but the only way we'd find out is getting someone to put one of the rings on and try and spot a pattern in who they killed." 

" _One_ of the rings?" I repeated. Now I thought about it, it made sense that there must be more of them. She'd known exactly what to do about this one, so she must have seen something similar before. "That thing you did with your phone–" 

"You can get an app for anything these days," she said. "Needs a bit of extra kit in the phone, of course, but I know a girl who knows a guy." 

"But what did it do?" 

"When you put one of those rings on, your body ends up full of wires – same stuff that the ring's made of. Hit them with the phone, and they get ripped out. Shouldn't kill you, but hurts like bu– like nothing on Earth. That's the theory, anyway." 

I felt sick at her matter-of-fact description of what had happened to Josh. Of what _I'd_ done to Josh. She must have noticed. 

"Had to be done," she said. "Try not to think about it." 

I tried, and realised I'd overlooked something else she'd said. "You said aliens? You're telling me aliens are real?" 

"Yeah, they're real all right." 

I nodded dumbly. I was beginning to hope that I was dreaming, or going mad, and in a moment I'd wake up back in reality. I pinched my arm several times, but it didn't work. 

When we arrived at the house, it was locked up, and everyone else was waiting for us on the drive. Among them was Deez, looking back to normal except for the beginnings of a black eye. 

"Oh, Director, how wonderful to see you again," Dotty said. She'd gone back to being a quavering old lady again. "Everything's loaded and ready. Do tell me, is there any news of poor Josh?" 

"I sacked him. Nicking stuff on the job is right out – got that, everyone?" She paused briefly while we murmured our agreement. "And so's mucking about with what you've nicked. He's in hospital now, the little scumbag. Deez, you feeling better?" 

Deez looked slightly thrown. "Um, yeah, boss," she managed. 

"Ace. OK, you and Fruitbox, in the van with me. Dotty, you take the rest." 

Not waiting for an answer, she clambered into the cab of the van. Deez and I exchanged glances – I could see her mouthing _Fruitbox?_ – and climbed in on the passenger side. 

For most of the drive back, I was trying to explain to Deez what had happened, and answering her questions. She didn't have much to add to the story, from her point of view; Dotty had deflected everyone's questions, and kept them hard at work getting the house emptied. 

"Boss," I said, once we'd run out of questions to ask each other, "You do this sort of thing all the time, don't you?" 

"Not all the time," our Director said, keeping her attention on the road. "Only on the bad days." 

"Did you do something like this with Deez? Because when we got back to the house, you knew who she was before she said anything." 

"Not bad, Fruitbox. Yeah, she helped me once. Long story." 

I made another mental leap. "And you were the one who called her Deez? I mean, in the first place?" 

"That's right. Get her to tell you about it one day." She laughed. "You might have to use blackmail." 

I glanced at Deez, who – for the first time since I'd met her – looked embarrassed. Then another thought struck me. 

"Which hospital's Josh in?" I asked. "I ought to visit him." 

"If I was you I'd leave the little toerag well alone," our boss replied. "He's probably telling anyone who'll listen it was all your fault. That you were the one who nicked the ring and he was only trying to get it back off you." 

"I can guess." I shook my head. "But I've got to go. It's like it's my... duty?" 

Deez punched me lightly in the arm. "Proper charity worker, aren't you?" 

"Yeah," the Director added. "When you've finished your community service, you'll probably be hearing from me. I think you ought to get a chance at the good days, too." 


End file.
